


Manes Street, Roswell

by ninhursag



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Grosse Point Blank (1997) Fusion, Assassins & Hitmen, Homophobic Language, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Murder, Murder rom-com, School Reunion, The Manes family is its own warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:07:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23675851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninhursag/pseuds/ninhursag
Summary: A murder rom-com, in which Alex Manes left home ten years ago when he joined the airforce, learned he had a very specific and very deadly skill set and went into business for himself. But the thrill just isn't there anymore.An inconvenient invitation to his high school reunion is a chance to find what he's been missing. Some old friends. The love of his life...And one thing he hasn't missed at all, his family.A Grosse Pointe Blank fusion/hitman AU.
Relationships: Alex Manes & Kyle Valenti, Liz Ortecho/Kyle Valenti, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, mentioned others - Relationship
Comments: 154
Kudos: 150
Collections: Time After Time: A Roswell New Mexico Alternate Era AU Event





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Soooooo it's movie fusion day and I haven't finished this story yet. But I've written a lot of it and obviously I have an outline.
> 
> This is my attempt at actually writing comedy so I hope you laugh.

“Sir, you won’t believe this,” the voice came in on Alex Mane’s earpiece while he was behind the scope of a sniper rifle, looking in through some dickbag’s bedroom window. Dickbag was sleeping with his mouth open, probably snoring. He should probably get checked over for sleep apnea, that could be a killer.

Alex grinned to himself. 

“Cam,” he said into the comm, “I’m not your CO anymore, you can stop calling me sir anytime you want.”

“I’m aware of that, sir,” she replied coolly. “I just had something come in with your mail that I wanted to share with you.”

Alex narrowed his eyes as dickbag rolled over, obscuring his shot. “Is it about the job?” 

“Oh, no, sir, it’s much better.” He didn’t need to be in the room with her to hear the way she was smirking, like whatever it was topped the charts for hilarious. She took a deep breath. “Dear Roswell High Alumni, can you believe it’s been ten years?”

“Cameron, what the fuck,” Alex hissed. 

“You’re invited, sir. To your ten year high school reunion. Listen to this-- are you kayaking down the Amazon River like Henry Brown? Developing real estate like Kate Long? Becoming a surgeon like Kyle Valenti? Signing to a record label like Maria DeLuca? What adventures have you been--”

“Cam, can you stop and recognize I’m on a job here?” Alex hissed. He debated pulling the trigger despite the lack of good sightlines. It should be good enough, right?

“Yes, of course, sir,” she said. She was not exactly giggling but then again. “Looking at old pictures and yearbooks evokes memories, some good, some bad, but all interesting. But when stories of you filter back to us we… who wrote this crap?”

"Probably Isobel Evans," Alex muttered. “She was the president of the Booster Society or something.” Then he growled under his breath and squeezed the trigger. And of course, it happened, unexpectedly. The dick rolled over, just a hair, just enough, that the bullet went into the headboard instead of his head.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Alex hissed, already on his feet. He took a deep breath, grateful he’d worn the blade prosthetic, because this wouldn’t work with the regular one. The running and then the leap, the carbon fibre taking the brunt of the impact and letting him land on the dick’s balcony. 

He kicked open the french doors, thankfully unlocked, and was in before the fucker had a chance to yell. 

The man was about three of Alex, but it didn't matter from this angle. He gasped, eyes wide, seeing his death, or Alex’s gun, anyway. “No, no, no, whatever I did to you, I’m sorry. Please. Please. Please don't hurt me.”

Alex rolled his eyes. “I gotta tell you, man, it’s not me you pissed off.” He grabbed a pillow and took the shot through it, just a thump and the guy was dead. Moments later, he was out the door and gone.

“Well that got fucked up,” he hissed when he was far enough away. 

Jenna Cameron made what could have passed as a sympathetic noise. “And they’re already pretty unhappy with you after the Kabul job. You know, with the dog?”

Alex seethed. “Do you think I’m happy about the dog? I’m not, Cam. The dog was not okay. There was nothing ok about what happened in Kabul.” 

There was a low whistling sigh while Alex dashed over to his car and buckled himself inside. “So, about your reunion, sir,” Cam said, without taking another pause.

Alex heard himself growl. “I do not give a shit about my reunion, I probably got spotted or left DNA on the site. I’m fucked, Cam, ok?”

“Not necessarily, sir. I just got a text. They’ve already sent in clean up. And, even better, they want to give you one last chance to make it right.”

“Wait, what, another job?” Alex sighed. “I bet they want a freebie.”

“They do, but they will forgo putting a price on your head, so I’d call it a win.” 

“Right, what is it?” Alex put the car into drive, hands on the wheel, and began navigating back to the safehouse.

Cam sounded peppy in her flat way, the undertone of amusement a presence in the air. “Sir, it’s the fucking cosmos moving things the way it wants-- fate or something. It’s a job in Roswell, New Mexico. Someone out there really wants you to go to your high school reunion and they want you to delete someone while you’re there.”

“Oh, jesus,” Alex hissed, whistling out a breath.

“Probably not him, sir. Anyway,” and the smile she had on had to be so wide right there. “You can look up that guy. The one you’ve been obsessed with for ten years.”

He'd probably be better adjusted if he had.

**

About an hour later, just enough time to change his clothes, put on his everyday prosthetic, and grab his go bag from the safehouse, Alex ended up in his therapist’s office, bouncing a stressball against the wall.

“I wish you’d stop doing that, Alex, you broke a lamp with that thing last time,” Dr. Kyle Valenti muttered. His hands were shaking a little.

“Whatever, you’re my shrink, you should have furniture that can withstand my stressball.” Seriously, it wasn’t like the thing was heavy. Kyle was just being a wimp. Funny about that.

Kyle took a deep breath, in and out, like he was trying to calm himself down and failing. Alex had long practice in the field, and he could smell the stink of fear. Kyle fought it down, though, which was always fun to watch. “I’m actually not, is the thing. I’m actually not a shrink at all, never mind yours. I’m a surgery resident, Manes.”

“Yeah, so?” Alex demanded, staring at Kyle with narrow eyes, fingers twitching in a way that would make some people think he had a weapon close at hand. Which, he did. Maybe. He smiled. “What’s your point, Valenti?”

Kyle winced, but soldiered on. At some point, Alex was maybe going to think about liking him again. He was growing guts at least. “My point is, you can’t just barge into my office and use me for free therapy anytime you want. I get that I was a dick to you in high school and you like fucking with me, but this isn’t even medically ethical. How the hell can I give you good care?”

Alex smirked and tossed the stressball again, just barely missing Kyle’s eye. “Are you saying you’re giving me bad care?”

“No. I mean, I’m sorry, ok! But, honestly, as someone that was your friend at some point, I’m telling you that you should see an actual therapist.” 

“So are you going to the reunion?” Alex asked, as if that was on topic. “My assistant forwarded me the invitation. That was surreal. Roswell High alumni association letterhead to your door in the middle of a job. My worlds collided.” 

Kyle looked away, which meant he was lying. “Probably not. I mean. Are you? Guerin is still in Roswell. You could actually talk to him again.” 

Alex actually winced, before turning to glare at Kyle. Kyle flinched himself, but managed not to duck under his desk like that one time. “He is?” Alex demanded. “What the hell is he doing there? He should be somewhere in Texas or Florida designing rocketships for NASA.”

“Guerin? He’s fixing cars and DJing, mostly. I don’t think he ever went to college, so the rocketships are out. I also can’t believe you don’t know this, I always figured you were cyber stalking him or something.”

“Hey! He deserves his privacy. And I… liked picturing him designing rockets. It was hot.” Alex let his eyes close for a moment, imagining Guerin in a lab coat, licking those lips, eyes shining, curls everywhere, all excited because he’d cracked some code or built some machine that made things explode. It was a really nice image. “Why didn’t he go to college?” 

But Alex actually knew the answer to that one, he suspected. 

"I don’t know about why Guerin does anything, but I do know you should go to the reunion and ask him," Kyle said. He really was getting legitimately brave there, interesting. Maybe a sign Alex was getting soft? Alex bared his teeth at him. 

"Seriously? You want me in the same town as your mom again?"

Kyle ignored the implicit threat for once. "Yes, seriously. What happened to you when we were kids was fucked up, Alex. But you can't keep killing people because you had a shitty childhood. You're the one it's messing up, even if you don't see that."

Alex's right eyelid twitched and he tossed the stressball again. Dead center, it bounced right off the middle of Kyle's forehead. Kyle groaned. "That fucking hurt, Manes."

"Well it should. Anyway, the people I kill are bad people, ok? I don't show up at someone like Greta Thunberg's door. And even if it was wrong, I don't care about that shit."

"What shit?" Kyle asked, gently. Too gently.

Alex gestured broadly. "Morality. I'm a Manes man, not really our forte."

Kyle sighed, leaning forward. "And are you happy, Manes man? Sitting in the dark, no friends, pretending your old high school bully is your therapist? Is this fun for you?"

"You know I'm not. I'm bored. I'm not… I'm not really angry anymore, you know, and that takes a lot of the satisfaction out of the job. The urge to rip people's spinal cords out isn't there like it was in the old days. Well. Maybe my dad's. And yours."

Kyle, unfortunately, once again ignored that whole last part. Shame, Alex had been particularly proud of the phrasing. "Well, then go. Catch up with your old friends. And, once again, if you're that into Guerin, go talk to him."

"I just-- I'm going in blind. I hate that, it never ends well." Maybe he should have stalk-- looked into him like everyone assumed he had been all along, but it still felt wrong. Michael deserved to reveal what he wanted his own way. He wasn’t a target. Which was part of the issue, Alex knew exactly how to talk to targets.

Valenti had the nerve to look put upon. "It's a conversation, Manes, not a job. Just, go to the fucking reunion, okay? And try not to kill anyone while you’re there?"

Alex made a huffy, irritated sound, not quite believing he was going to do this, especially on Valenti's say so. But there was a reason he kept coming here and it wasn't just because making Kyle piss himself was funny. "Ok fine. If I'm getting antsy I'll just maim someone a little." Other than the job, which didn't count.

Kyle squeezed his eyes closed. "Well that's progress, I guess."

For a surgery resident, Kyle wasn't the worst therapist.

**

Alex flipped on the radio when he drove into Roswell and didn’t flinch at the low, smooth voice of the DJ coming in over the speakers. Nice of Valenti to have warned him about that at least.

“It’s reunion weekend at Roswell High School,” Michael fucking Guerin said, to the world at large, but mostly to Alex or that’s what it felt like. His voice was a little lower than it had been at seventeen, but it still rolled right over Alex like slow flowing honey, with a spicy kick of meanness. “And people are coming home. Coming back from the scattered corners of this sad little marble of a planet, using up energy that could have kept the heat death of the universe at bay for just a few seconds longer.”

The desert flew past outside of Alex’s windshield as he came off on an exit, and Guerin talked in his ear, “And why are they here? Taking stock of their lives, whether their wives got ugly or their husbands got fat? To check and see if the tourists are right and the aliens actually have landed? I say, leave your livestock alone, keep entropy at bay those precious second fractions longer. Stay away from Roswell, class of 2008. Even the aliens know better.” 

As Alex stopped at a red light, the opening bars of Sugar, We’re Going Down Swinging came in over the background. “But since I know you won’t, I’m making this an all emo, all guys in ugly shirts wearing their sister’s make-up and crying into their beer weekend.” There was a sharp exhale, audible through static. “This one is dedicated to the one I love. If you’re out there and listening, fu– whoops, can’t say it on the radio– you.” A laugh, a bright one. “And I mean that completely literally.”

And Alex, eyes gone wide, smiled. That was almost promising.

He was feeling pretty hopeful, pretty good, until he moved to turn into the parking lot of the Wild Pony and found a bright, neon lit gas station and minimart instead.

He stared. 

This was not what he’d expected when he thought about being 21 and getting to drink at a place that had seemed cool at the time. He muttered something under his breath, before getting up and barrelling inside. There was some kid he didn’t recognize behind the counter, but he was a sort of generic mousy blond-- maybe one of the Long kids?

“Hey,” Alex said, stepping up the counter. “What are you doing here?”

The kid blinked at him with generic, watery blue eyes. “Wha-- what?”

Alex sighed heavily, spreading his hands in front of him and looking straight at the kid, who took a startled step back. “I said. What. Are. You. Doing. Here.”

Another bewildered shake of the head. “I, uh, work here, dude?”

Alex looked around at the too bright fluorescent gas station ambiance and back at the kid. “Here. Right. But why is this here? Where’s the Wild Pony? Where’s Mimi?” He didn’t quite reach out to grab the kid by the shirt, but he flinched anyway.

“I, uh, have no idea what you’re talking about,” the kid whispered. 

“Mimi DeLuca,” Alex repeated. This kid was insanely slow. Definitely inbreeding coming through, fucking Roswell. “Where is she?”

Alex didn’t even pull his gun, so he had no clue why the kid’s knees literally knocked. “I don’t know, please don’t hurt me.”

"Oh come on, it's not me," he muttered and rolled his eyes. "It's not me."

Then he turned and stalked out of the door, or would have if the fucking automatic sliding door had let him.

When he was in the parking lot he pulled out his phone. 

“Kyle!” Alex howled into the phone. “What the hell? Where’s Mimi? I want to talk to Mimi.”

Kyle didn’t answer, of course, because he was a dicksack of an asshole. And Alex liked dicks and assholes. Unfortunately for Alex, he ran almost directly into someone else who had no clue where Mimi might be. 

His worthless brother Flint.

“Alex,” Flint said, like he’d been expecting this. He had his hand dug deep into a lump in his pants pocket that was absolutely a gun. Alex bared his teeth at him. “I heard about Kabul. Shame about the dog.”

Alex could feel the growl coming to his own throat. He did not need this, not right now. He wanted Mimi, not this fucker. “Do not talk to me about the dog, I feel bad about the dog, ok?”

Flint smirked openly. “Only you would feel bad about the dog. The real reason they’re pissed at you is the warlord you left to rot with a fork stuck through his trachea.”

Alex rolled his eyes, fingers still tight on his own gun. “The one who liked twelve year olds? My sleep is uninterrupted.”

Flint made a disapproving noise. "You know what you do affects the whole family, Alex. We're trying to do actually important work while you're swanning around killing humans for money."

Killing humans? "What, you guys and Dad are into pet killing now?" Alex muttered.

"We're doing important work for the entire race if you must know," Flint said smugly. "And you could be in on it if you straightened out."

Alex paused. Ok that was a new level. Even Mom would probably be annoyed if she weren't too busy cheating at cards at a golf course in Florida or whatever she was doing. "The race? The race? What the fuck, have you noticed you're not white either, asshole?"

If anything Flint looked smugger which was a really bad sign. "I meant the human race, which even queers like you belong to. So I'm serious about you being in, Alex. You could be part of the family again."

"My life long queer dream," Alex said, incredulously. "Family reunions. Does Dad know you're inviting me in?"

"Of course. Come on, Alex, I want to fight on the same side as you." Flint actually dropped his hand a little off the gun and made a face like he was earnest. "We're family and all of us still remember that."

"Right. Right. For the sake of the, um, human race? Versus what, the elves? Is Santa missing any?"

Flint’s face was a picture of frustrated something or other. Alex didn’t want to think about it too hard, it kind of reminded him of Flint pulling him out of the hole in the backyard after dad made him dig it and asking him why he couldn’t try harder to listen. Same old asshold. "This isn't a game, for fuck's sake. Are you in or are you out?"

"Well, I'm not a part of Dad's sick little charade," Alex spat taking a step back. He was almost at his car. He pushed a button to pop the door open. "So count me out."

Flint glared at him as he hopped inside. "Dad's watching you, Alex!" he called out. "If you're not in, you're against us!"

The car door cut off his voice, but he was still yelling something. Well this wasn't good.

**

After some minimal research, so much for HIPAA privacy laws, Alex found Mimi DeLuca, his best friend's mom, and honestly more his than his own had been, at the Sunset Mesa assisted living. When he rolled in to sign the visitor’s log, they just pointed out the way.

She looked neat and well kept, only her hair didn't look quite right, as if they didn't know how to care for it. He was mostly shocked Maria didn't do anything about that, he told himself, it didn't seem like her.

She was in her fifties, looked forty-nine, and had no idea who the hell he was every other minute or so. She smiled at him kindly.

"You're a handsome fellow," she said, "what's your name?"

"Alex Manes, Mimi," he said, forcing a smile. "I know it's been a while."

"Oh, right, you're not my son in law," she said, patting his hand lightly. "Why didn't Maria marry you instead?"

He laughed at that, genuinely. "I'm pretty sure I came out to you at least three times before I left. That's at least a start on the reason."

Mimi smiled to herself. "Ah yes, I warned Maria about that but she said he was bisexual. All the aliens are, you know," she said sagely.

Alex sighed and nodded. "I guess that makes sense," he said. "If you're literally from another planet, why limit yourself to a binary? We're all just monkeys here on Earth so why pick a monkey gender, right?"

"That's what Will Smith said," Mimi responded, delighted. "Not the part about the monkeys, though, he's much nicer."

Alex shrugged. "I'm glad he's as good a guy as he seems like on screen."

"You are a sweet boy, Alex," Mimi said. She hummed a little too herself. "But you have to watch out for your father. I'd tell him my son in law is really not so bad, but he doesn’t listen and you already know that."

"So did Maria actually get married?" Alex asked instead of letting it get to his father.

Mimi sighed heavily. "Vegas," she said. "It didn't last, he's still hung up on that Manes boy, the decent one, and she was sick of Roswell. It wasn't really about the aliens, just not meant to be in this lifetime."

Alex frowned, sudden overwhelming suspicion hitting him. "Which Manes boy is the decent one?"

Mimi waved her hand airily. "Don't try to distract me, Alex. You should go talk to Michael about this, not me."

Alex sucked in his lower lip. Well, it wasn't like she'd remember anything he said anyway. "Given the way I left things, I can't honestly think of what to say to him. It's not like I even said goodbye."

Mimi's gentle gaze sharpened and she patted his hand again. "He's a keeper, you know, you just have to accept he's not entirely like us. Maybe let him take care of you. He likes doing that and you look like you could use it."

"I miss him," Alex confessed. "I think about him all the time, that last night in the shed before my Dad ruined our lives. No one has ever looked at me like he did and I've never wanted them to."

Mimi just kept looking at him, taking him in. She looked exactly like his old Mimi then, knowing and a little sad. "Oh, Alex, ruined is a strong word. I've known people without a chance in the world and all of a sudden, they have lives. Time allows miracles. Let yourself leave room for that, maybe?"

Alex nodded. He stood up awkwardly, foot twitching, and leaned down to kiss Mimi's cheek.

"Thank you," he said.

She grinned at him like she'd never seen him before. "Well, you're a handsome fellow. What's your name?"

Alex sighed and walked away as smoothly as he could. His lack of leg hurt all of the sudden.

He didn't exactly mean to head toward the radio station, but Michael Guerin's voice came on when he started his car.

"And this is a cover of a much better song, but someone used to play it when we were making out under the bleachers during homecoming," said Michael on the radio. The strands of 'running up that hill' came on.

And somehow, not long after hearing him, Alex was letting himself into the station through the front door. It wasn't hard, no one asked what he was doing when he strode right into the recording booth.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alex and Michael are reunited and it goes about as well as could be expected.

The man in the chair spun around, and there he was, bathed in light, at least he looked like that to Alex. It glinted in the curls that weren’t entirely covered by a fancy looking black stetson and lit up his eyes like honey. He was different, really different than the last time Alex had seen him, broader shouldered, stubble on his face, a cynical tilt to his chin. 

But just for just a second his eyes went wide and then he looked exactly the same, seventeen and stricken, like he’d never seen anything like what’s in front of him before. “Alex fucking Manes,” he said, shock audible. “Back from-- where did you go, exactly?”

Alex knew he was staring right back. Because here Michael was, flesh and blood, all grown up and just the same. He shrugged, a small, graceless gesture. “Kabul, then lots of different places. Denver, most recently,” he said. “Hey, Guerin.”

“Heeeeey, Guerin, he says,” Michael muttered, as if to himself, head shaking. 

“I heard you on the radio,” Alex said. “Your taste in music got better.”

Both of Michael’s eyebrows went up. “Really? That’s what you’re gonna say to me, Alex Manes, back from Kabul or Baghdad or Denver, Colorado? What, did you join the Airforce like your daddy wanted or something?”

Alex forced a shrug with more difficulty than he should have and tried not to feel the impact of those words, the truth of them. It was funny when it was everyone else saying it. When Michael said it, when he thought about that, it was-- something. Else. “Yeah, but I went in for some more specialized training. How long has it been anyway?”

Michael grinned knives at him, even those curls of his appearing to vibrate. He leaned down into the microphone, ignoring Alex’s flinch. “How. Long. Has. It. Been. He asks me. What, since you left me waiting outside of the shed in your backyard in my ugly ass goodwill tuxedo, trying to take cover from your fucking dad?”

Alex shook his head frantically, gesturing for Michael to cover the damned microphone up. Michael rolled his eyes. "It’s off, asshole, I wouldn’t do that to you. Just. How long has it been, huh? It’s been ten years, Alex. Ten. Ten years. Where have you been for ten years?"

Alex sighed. He had to do this. He could do this, and then he could go. “So, I freaked out, joined the Airforce, and once I got through basic and they saw my test scores I got assigned to a special task force and-- long story short, I’m in business for myself now, as a contract killer.”

“That’s cool,” Michael said with another dramatic eye-roll. “Hi Contract Killer, I’m a literal alien from outer space.” He paused, looking at Alex, who looked back. “So. Do you get dental with that?”

“Nope,” Alex replied, too steadily. “The benefits suck, I lost my leg and had to pay for my own prosthetic. You’re not actually an alien, are you?”

“Sure,” Michael said with faux brightness. “But let’s talk about you. What the fuck are you doing here, Alex?”

Alex blinked and turned that one over in his head. What was he actually doing here, other than remembering he might still have feelings that could get ripped out of him somewhere? Fuck feelings. 

“Uh. Well. I. I heard your show on the radio. Anyway, I’ve gotta go, but it was good to see you again, Guerin. I’m gonna be here for at least a few days and we could, we could--” Alex gave up abruptly, and just stared at Michael's face.

Michael’s lashes were still golden, and he had that set to his jaw that looked so much like it wanted to harden but couldn’t. “You’ve gotta go?” Michael said, with amazed disdain, voice bitter even though his face still wasn’t, and that was the strangest part. How he kept looking at Alex in the old way. “Ok, go. See you in ten years, maybe?” was said in a tone as hard as rockface, but Michael’s eyes were soft.

Alex still fled, from the words and eyes both, was even halfway out the door before he stopped abruptly, pressed his forehead to his palm and swung back around.

He paused when he saw that Michael had flipped the microphone back on. Live and on the air. Alex stayed where he was, by the door. Listening. Seeing.

"And hey, let's read an email from our listeners!" Michael said. There was a crinkle, as if of paper but Michael's hands were empty and he met Alex's eyes head on. "It's from space cowboy, how about that."

Michael's stare was unflinching, like the parching sun on Alex’s skin. Golden and swallowing, the weight of those eyes. Like he'd been that night when… and all the nights before. 

Like he was in Alex's dreams, in the desert, in hotels, in the dark. Maybe this was a dream.

And dream Michael, he sounded like real Michael when he talked, all tight rages and soft metaphors. "A man comes to you. He is from the past, bringing you pain long since put behind you. He says peculiar things and leaves abruptly. It all comes flooding back...

"So. Let's recap. Spring of '08. Two dumb kids with a cosmic connection and frightening chemistry. One boy is hiding out in the backyard of the other's house in a shitty Goodwill tuxedo after the best sex of his life was literally-- I mean literally interrupted by an actual hammer. He's waiting to make sure that the other boy is ok. Because hammers turn out to be kind of terrible.

"But you know what-- the other boy never shows up. Ever. Doesn't call, text, send a fucking postcard. He'd just gone, from that moment until now. End recap. So, what's space cowboy's question?"

Michael nodded at Alex, who licked his dry lips. There was sweat on the back of his neck, as if he’d maybe not managed to duck a bullet. "Um," he managed, too soft to be picked up on the radio. "Where did I-- he. Go?"

Michael's eyes narrowed even further. "You could ask where he went, but that's missing the point here. This isn't a where question."

Alex shrugged and looked at the microphone and Michael and pressed his face back into the wall.

Michael gave a heavy, irritated sigh. He still hadn't looked away. Everytime Alex looked at him, he was looking back. "What happened? This is a what question. What happened to him. Just-- let's talk Schrödinger, for you listeners who actually have brain cells and paid attention in school. Until the boy shows up, his status is unknown. Is he alive and hanging out in Paraguay being a contract killer or did his dad bury his corpse in the backyard? Did the aliens get him? And if they did, why didn't space cowboy get the memo? Is it fun not to know? Are you having fun not knowing anything?

"Hey, how about a beer, beer is fun. Fun for everyone."

Alex sighed and walked back into the small studio and stood awkwardly across from Michael. They could almost touch. Almost. Michael stared back at him, fingers tapping, eyes still fixed in an expression that was almost gentle. 

"We'll take audience questions about space cowboy's dilemma, but first, more whiny music from the hot topic era. How about All American Rejects, Dirty Little Secrets, because baby, I'm feeling dirty. Least I ain't little."

Michael flipped off the microphone and gestured for Alex to have a seat. He pushed over a bottle of unlabeled something that did smell like beer. "Ok, Alex, talk. You're here for a reason."

Alex opened his mouth and then closed it again. His head hurt. The headache really started somewhere between his eyes but it was throbbing everywhere. His phantom leg hurt even worse.

"I thought that. You know, if I went home, maybe saw some old friends. Um. You, saw you." He paused, mostly to scuff at the ground with his flesh and blood foot. "Seeing you is the most important part. And I could maybe remember the kid I used to be before the whole thing started. Anyway, my shrink said it would be a good idea, so..."

Michael stared at him. He didn’t roll his eyes at least. "Your shrink? I'm therapy homework, am I?"

Alex made a face. And shrugged, a tiny movement of his shoulders.

Michael pounced on the uncertainty, because of course he did. "So it's been a minute, it's been a decade, and you show up with therapy homework. And what, I just let you have access to me to sort your shit out?"

Alex sighed again, a whistling breath of air.

And that was when Michael flipped the microphone back on, cutting off any possible responses. “Ok, we are going to take questions from our listeners. Space cowboy has a dilemma. Does he forgive and forget, or hold a grudge ‘til you are all dead? The heat death of the universe is coming for us all. Call in and tell me what you think.” 

The first caller was a mouth breather. Alex could have sworn he had a vague sense memory of that breath-- like-- like-- “Racist Hank!” Michael said cheerfully. “You have any thoughts you want to share with our listening audience?”

“You a faggot, Guerin?” Hank mumbled. “Because that sounds like a faggot problem you’re talking about.”

Alex’s hands clenched but Michael’s grin didn’t falter. “You are so observant. Are you still mad I went to prom with someone else, baby?”

"You're a dick," Hank spat. "Queer stuff on the radio, kids could be listening. I wouldn’t touched your diseased a--"

Michael cut him off with a cheerful, "thanks for your input, Racist Hank, next up!" and a push of a button.

The next voice was a woman’s a little shaky, as if with age, "Michael, honey, the way you tell it doesn't sound like space cowboy's friend is making an effort. Ten years and he shows up now? What’s to say he doesn’t just take off again. When my Tom took up with Sally Jenkins and then came crawling back, I made him work for it."

“Really?” Michael said with the same unruffled cheer. “How did you do that, Mrs. Robinson?”

“Hands and knees, honey, and I don’t just mean begging.” 

Michael laughed out loud. “Sounds like an idea. I bet space cowboy would like to get some good old fashioned earning.” 

Alex’s spine stiffened abruptly and he took a step closer, feeling something that was almost like hope. Michael’s smile was something else again, reaching his eyes.

The next voice was even more familiar than Hank’s, unfortunately, though Alex wasn’t so sure Michael knew it. “I think space cowboy needs to seriously consider his options. Does Mr ten years missing actually feel remorse, or is he just looking for a booty call? It’s not every day someone can say they nailed an alien, even in Roswell, huh, Guerin? And do you know the kind of crap he’s been up to? Because--”

Alex flinched and Michael frowned, but the cheer in his voice didn’t dissipate as he cut the caller off. "Well, now I feel seen. Thanks caller! What did you say your name was?"

There was a dial tone instead of a response. Michael rolled his eyes but the tension in his shoulders didn’t immediately vanish.

“Well that was special,” he said. “On to more weepy whiny music from the aughties. How about cut rate Steven Malkmus for you?” The strains of a song by the Plain White Tees began and Michael turned off the microphone, turning his attention fully on Alex.

“Ok, so,” he said. His mouth curled, irritated or something else, maybe. His eyes, those same eyes, the same tip of curls under his stupid hot cowboy hat. And then, just like that, for no known reason he took sympathy on Alex. Or offered something softer at least. He smiled. "I mean, if I help you with your homework, will there at least be sex in it for me? Say something, Alex!"

Alex nodded tightly, mind instantly coming out of full overdrive and stalling into stop. "Um. Yeah? If you want?"

Michael grinned, teeth showing. "Cool. I'm your date for the reunion. Pick me up at six."

"Wait, what?"

"Hey, I have to go or Isobel will kill me, it's her baby. And if I'm suffering, you're suffering."

"You're serious about this?" Alex asked, making sure.

"Yeah, whatever, hitman. Just, you know, show up. Do not be late or I might go solo."

Alex was out the door, possibly grinning, when he realized he had no idea where Michael actually lived. Well, shit.

He unlocked his phone. Dialed three times before there was an answer. A groggy incoherent one but still.

“Kyle, where the hell does Michael Guerin live?” he said.

Kyle sputtered on the other end of the line. "I was sleeping, Alex. I'm on nights this week, I need to sleep."

“So,” Alex breathed into the speaker. “Mimi strongly implied Guerin and DeLuca used to be married. Did you know about that?”

Kyle’s voice on the other end was just short of panic. "I didn't tell you because I'm scared of you, Alex. Which, by the way, is because you keep threatening to kill me! And Maria is perfectly nice and Guerin might be an asshole but he doesn't deserve to die because you've been creepily obsessed with him for years but refused to have any contact, ok?"

Right. So it wasn't a delusion a la Will Smith. Damn. "Wait, wait, what? You thought you needed to protect Michael and Maria from me? What the fuck, Valenti, that's sick. Also, I know where you live. And where your mom lives."

Kyle made a noise. "See, see, this is why I'm scared of you."

"Right, but I wouldn't hurt Michael. You know that, don't you?"

Kyle breathed into the silence.

"Anyway, I'm not creepy. I thought about him a lot, yeah, but if I were creepy I'd know about the fact that he was fucking married to my best friend five years ago."

"You know how else you could have known? You could have actually talked to him. Instead of sitting in my office describing your oddly specific dreams about his dick. His dick, Alex!"

"It's a really nice dick, though," Alex hummed thoughtfully. "Do you know that it curves left a little and-"

"Stop. Stop talking about Michael Guerin's dick."

"To be fair, you brought it up. Hey, did you know he mentioned he told me that he'd help me with my therapy homework if there would be sex?"

There was a pause and a cough. "I'm happy for you and that asshole and I'm sure you'll deserve each other. Now leave me alone. Please."

There was a beep and then silence on the other end of the line. He still had no idea where Guerin lived.

But, like a sign from on high, there was the old sign for the Crashdown diner, and standing right outside looking as confused as Alex felt, was yet another person Alex hadn't seen in years either, Liz Ortecho.

"Holy shit," she said, "Alex! Rosa said you were back too. She said sorry about the Wild Pony but Maria told her to get the best deal for it."

"Rosa said--" there was a lot there, like how Rosa knew that when he hadn't seen her. And then… what?

Liz sighed heavily and muttered something under her breath in Spanish. Then, louder, "she's a real estate agent now."

"Wait. What, seriously?" That was actually maybe even more wrong than Guerin not designing rockets for a living.

"And she sold the Pony for the DeLucas. Maria wanted the commission to go to a friend," Liz said.

Alex found his voice rising without his input which he did not like and could not help. "Rosa took a commission on our childhood? Rosa did? What the fuck, Liz!"

"We've all got to make a living, and all that rehab she went through wasn't cheap. It was a cash deal on the land," Liz said, like she actually cared about this. Maybe she did.

Alex took a deep breath. Right. Time moved on. Entropy as Michael would say.

Michael. Right.

"Hey. So where does Guerin live?" Alex asked, trying to remember how they'd used to talk back in the days they were friends. If he could sound like that, she'd probably spill.

She smiled at him. "How the hell should I know, cabron, I just rolled into town myself."

He smiled back and nodded. "Really? What have you been up to?"

Liz made a face, "grad school. Research project that got shut down by assholes and moralists cutting our funding. So not sure, really, nothing groundbreaking enough. What about you? Ten years and no one even heard from you. What happened?"

Alex shrugged evenly and showed her his teeth. "I freaked out, joined the Air Force, worked for the government, and went into business for myself... I'm a contract killer."

Liz stared at him, "Fuck you," she said. "You don't need to lie to me, it's stupid." Another pause. "Want me to ask my dad where Guerin lives?"

"Yeah, could you?"

"Sure." There was another long pause. "Professional killer, huh? And here I thought trying to get research grants was cutthroat."

She wandered inside, calling, "I'll bring take out too," over her shoulder. He could have gone in, but didn't. He didn't need Arturo asking where he'd been too. Better off playing stupid phone games with his thumbs and imagining how quickly he could shoot out the tires of tourist's cars as they drove by.

Liz came out of the crashdown about twenty minutes later with a brown paper bag and a real smile. “Ok, I’m driving,” she said.

“I just want an address,” Alex protested as he climbed into the car after her. "I don't need a lift."

“Well, we can catch up while I take you past it. It’ll creep right up on us,” she smiled with unnecessary deviousness.

“No, it won’t. It's not creeping up if you’re literally driving me right there," Alex said, head shaking.

“Whatever. Buckle your seatbelt already.” She rolled her eyes at him but she was mostly still smiling. For whatever reason, he did just that. It was still a weird feeling to just go with someone. But hell, he was armed, it was Liz. She wasn’t armed, he could tell from the fit of her clothes and just-- it was Liz.

Not that she didn’t have her own motives for driving him out there.

They got about a mile out of town when suddenly, Liz swerved the car over onto the side of the road, making the brakes squeal with the force of it. Alex flinched, caught by the seat belt, feeling the short stop in his chest. 

“Ten years,” Liz yelled at him, nostrils flaring, eyes dark and intense. “Ten. Ten years, Alex. What the hell happened?”

Alex’s hands were loose at his sides but he raised his voice as loud as she did. “Listen, you were gone too! You don’t have the high ground of being a not crappy friend here.”

That got him a headshake of her own and some visibly gritted teeth. “You know what, though? I called, I sent emails and texts. I didn’t make people think I was a body buried in a desert, idiot. What the hell? We were friends, I thought we were friends. What happened? They let you send postcards from the Airforce so don’t say it was that.”

Alex sighed noisily, letting the register of his voice get quieter, steadier.“I freaked out, Liz, ok? I lost my mind, I wanted to kill people so I went somewhere where that kind of thing was validated.”

“I honestly can’t believe you,” she said with a sigh of her own.

“Yeah, I’m getting that.” And he had no idea why. No one else seemed to have trouble figuring out he was a killer. He swallowed. Actually though-- “So you know Kyle Valenti is still in love with you, right?”

That didn't distract her. If anything, her dark eyes flared with a fresh burst of anger. “What? Are you saying you kept in touch with Kyle? Why Kyle of all people?”

Alex made a face, but hey it was Liz and why not tell her? It wasn't like he was telling Kyle. And maybe he could be nice. Wasn't that the whole point of this exercise?

“Honestly? At first I figured it wouldn’t be too bad if something happened to him since he was such a dick. But, he’s changed, actually. Adulthood is working out for him. Don’t tell him I said that.”

She snorted in disbelief. “Yeah, he was always nice to me. I mean, I did know he was. Like, in lov--that there were feelings. I mean him, that he had feelings, not me and-- We meet up sometimes, usually at conferences and--” She stopped abruptly, anger returning to her expression.

Alex grinned, genuinely and his eyebrows lifted. “Really now? You and your high school sweetheart still hooking up?”

Her head shook and her hands fisted up. “He never told me anything about you! And he knows we worried.” Right, back to this.

"I was fine, Liz," Alex said uncomfortably. "I'm always fine."

"I heard you lost a leg," she hissed back.

"Well I'm three-quarters fine, then," Alex said without thinking about it.

Liz cursed him out, thoroughly, in extremely filthy Spanish while he shrugged. She had learned some new ones, it was actually kind of impressive.

“So. Guerin’s place?” he asked when she finally ran out of steam.

"I missed you," Liz muttered. Her eyes were a little wet and she rubbed one of them. "I really thought you-- I'm glad you're here."

"Me too," Alex said, and, unexpectedly, it was true. 

They didn't say much else until Liz slowed the car next to the old junkyard. "Papi says Guerin parks his airstream out here, especially when he's doing work for Sander's autobody. He's the best mechanic in town."

Alex sighed. "I don't get why he's not designing rockets," he said mournfully. 

Liz shrugged. "Don't look at me, I agree that it is pretty weird. You wanna go in and visit him?"

"Maybe later." Alex looked away and let Liz drive him back into town.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things go boom and our idiots kiss. Not at the same time.

Instead of talking to Michael, Alex maybe goes in and bugs the radio station that night with some military surplus surveillance equipment. Just to keep an eye on things.

He does not call Kyle to tell him about that. Kyle would be smug and claim it was a sign of… something.

Anyway, with Flint buzzing around, talking about Dad, and that voice on the radio that sounded a lot like his oldest brother JJ, he's got to be careful. He didn't show up just to watch something happen to Michael.

**

That left Alex headed back to the minimart where the Pony used to be, but hey, at least you could still get a drink there at whatever pm it was.

There was some woman in the back, earbuds jammed into her ears, fucking around with a phone game. Her dark head was bent over so Alex didn't get a good look at her face. The Long kid was still at the register and gave him a wary nod.

"Can I help you," the kid asked.

Alex curled his mouth. "What's done is done," he muttered. It wasn't like they were bringing the Pony back. He wandered over to grab a pack of gum when he spotted JJ's fucking jeep pulling in next to his car. So that was him. Like Flint hadn't been bad enough. At least Flint usually talked first and escalated to violence later.

Alex course corrected in a heart beat, ducking into an aisle in the back.

Which wasn't a moment too soon because JJ had a Mac-10 for each hand and he was grinning like a middle school bully raring to hand out swirlies. 

Alex sighed, dropped the gum, and pulled his Glock from its holster. Apparently this is what they were doing in their fucking hometown. Amazing.

The Long kid screamed, pale and sweaty all of the sudden and grabbed for the cash drawer to open it up and put up his hands.

"Don't hurt me, don't hurt me, don't hurt me!" He wailed. "Money's all yours, guys."

The dark haired woman in the back kept her thumbs on her phone, oblivious.

And that's when JJ shot the Long kid. One to the head, brain burst and blood splatter, the works.

Alex was already running up the cooler aisle mentally cursing out the fact that he was wearing his ordinary prosthetic and the stump was not going to hold up. Adrenaline had him for the moment as he ducked bursts of fire. 

He shot back at JJ, breathing even, exchanging fire. A good burst delivered from JJ had Alex diving behind the counter, hissing at the pain in his stump and barely avoiding the ground.

He paused just enough to shove the pain away and reloaded with a fresh cartridge, coming out with Glock, ready to go, but all he got was the swinging door and the angry squeal of tires.

JJ was gone, driving off too fast to follow. Alex ground his teeth and moved, low to ground.

Girl on her phone twitched on, cursing about something, totally oblivious while Alex moved over to the Long kid's corpse.

Yup. The unnatural angle of a dead guy, when Alex toed him with his boot. Well this just kept getting better-- and shit.

There was an IED under the kid's body, and it was clearly about to blow. "Fuck, fuck, fuckity, what the fuck, JJ," Alex hissed. "What kind of brother are you?"

Totally rhetorical. They were all Manes brothers, that’s what kind of brothers they were. Kiddie torture experts who learned everything at dear old dad’s knees. Alex flipped the body over the device again, like that would absorb anything instead of just tearing it to shreds of meat.

Then he made a bee-line toward the door, grabbing the shoulder of the woman, who made a hissing sound of annoyance and tried to shrug him off.

"What the fuck, man?" she spat, and that's when Alex realized he had his hands on Rosa Ortecho. Liz’s sister. His old high school drinking buddy and now real estate broker. 

Her mouth dropped open too and she pushed backwards, looking around, taking in him, the store full of carnage and the corpse in the cashier's island.

Alex kept his hand on her, half dragging her out the swinging double doors.

They were both running by then, just in time to see the goddamn minimart blow to hell and beyond right in front of them.

Alex dove into his car while Rosa went for the passenger seat, eyes huge, both of them feeling the heat of the explosion still on their skin while Alex peeled the car out of there before the gas tanks blew.

Rosa had her arms wrapped around her chest, breath coming fast and furious, in gulps.

Finally, finally, she managed a hissing, "what the fuck, Manes? What the fuck?"

Alex stopped at a light and dry swallowed a pain pill from the glove compartment.

"So," he said. "I freaked out, joined the Airforce, got singled out to learn some specialized skills and now I'm a professional killer."

"Oh," Rosa breathed. "And I thought I was the black sheep." She looked almost the same as she had as a kid up close. Her hair was nicer, and she was wearing a blouse, but otherwise-- not so much like a real estate broker. The tattoos were a lot that way.

"Guess not," Alex allowed. "Taking a commission on the Pony was pretty low, though."

"Maria needed the money and so did I." She frowned at his pill bottle. "Are those oxys? Can I have one?"

Alex knew he was supposed to say no. "Liz and your dad will kill me, so no," he muttered.

She rolled her eyes. "I think you have bigger problems than that right now."

He frowned. "Are you going to tell everyone?" Like she'd told Liz he was in town? How the hell did she know that again?

That earned him a tilted shrug and a glare. "Are you gonna give me one of those pills if I keep it on the downlow?"

"No," he said after actually thinking about it for a second.

She sighed, hands jammed under her arms and shook her head. "I kind of have to tell them anyway, so that's fair. Maybe you should do it yourself before I get the chance?"

Alex sighed. Then he was jerked up by some asshole honking behind him. Oh. Right. Green light.

"I could just kill you and bury your body in the desert," he muttered as they drove. That earned him an eyeroll and a laugh. "I could."

She shook her head. "I heard Guerin on the radio this morning doing his space cowboy bullshit. You do that and he's never getting back with your ass, gilitonto. Anyway, you love me."

Alex shook his head and drove her home. 

On the way back to his hotel, he found himself slowing down by the junkyard and Michael's airstream. It kind of crept up on him. He washed his face and hair with a wet wipe to make sure he could look at least mostly like he hadn’t been in a fight and pronounced himself acceptable.

He got out of the car, slightly hazy as the painkillers started to hit, but the soreness in his leg at least going fuzzy with the rest of it. Anyway, this all was a great idea.

Michael was perched outside on a lawn chair, long legs stretched out and gorgeous and shirt half off. He was reading some very fine print journal full of diagrams and equations that made Alex's head hurt from a distance.

He frowned at Alex. "The reunion isn't until tomorrow. Which is lucky, otherwise you'd be late."

Alex shrugged. "Maybe I'm just really early? Wouldn't want to miss it?" He stopped for a second, just taking in the fact that he was, for the second time in years, breathing in Michael Guerin's air.

Michael smiled faintly at him, still not getting up. "Is that why you're here? Just making sure?"

Alex frowned and considered just saying yes. But then again-- "Actually. I've been wondering how you've been. Like, while I was gone. I'd like to hear about that, about you, if--if it's possible."

Michael leaned forward, two golden-brown eyebrows up, curls framing his face. 

"Sure. Fine. Let's play catch up. You first." He struck a waiting pose, like the dramatic asshole he was.

Alex took a step back. The drugs were definitely kicking in now. "Well, there's not much to tell."

"Oh come on. You've done things. People. You've had experiences. Ten years, right?" Michael actually looked interested and like he wanted to hear what Alex had to say.

Alex sighed. "I mean, I got my leg blown off. So, that was a blast?" He rubbed the leg, which got Michael to his feet just like that. "Bad experiences."

"Yeah, you know what? You look exhausted, why don't you take some weight off it." Michael bustled and then his hands were on Alex's wrists, warm and steady and gentle. Familiar and a surprise.

Alex didn't have a chance to protest much before he was sitting on his ass with the limb elevated. He'd probably have the prosthetic off if he were alone but Michael didn't push it and Alex didn't really want to go there and show off his surgical scars.

Yet.

It was weird how much it didn't worry him, that temporary yet, even with Rosa and everything else hanging over his head, but maybe it wasn't weird at all. 

Michael was ducking into the trailer for ice and a beer and Alex got to watch him move. He took the ice and shrugged off the drink. "Doesn't work with the medication I take," he admitted.

Michael nodded and settled back down across from him. It was getting darker, which was disappointing. "So, bad experiences? Blasted off legs? Did you at least get to binge anything good on Netflix?"

That surprised a laugh out of Alex. "Bad television."

"Wow," Michael said, shaking his head and grinning. "Are you the only guy in Roswell sadder than me? Sounds like what you need is a Shockabuku." He wiggled his fingers, the ones on his good hand, for emphasis.

"Shocka-what now?" Alex repeated, holding the ice against the sorer parts he could reach and still smiling.

"Well. According to DeLuca, it's a swift spiritual kick to the head that alters your reality forever. And also according to her, I need ten of em to do any good." Michael snapped open a beer and that got Alex thinking about the fact he had been married. Married. Jesus fuck.

Michael was obviously waiting for a response. "Yeah. That'd be good," Alex managed, smile fading a little.

Michael frowned at him after a moment of now expanding silence, to the point of discomfort. "Come on, Alex. You're here after ten years, don't look at me like that. What did you expect? You gotta tell me. What do you want now?"

Want? Now there was a question that was wide open. If the answer even mattered. To take back the last ten years and pick a different fucked up family to be born into? Who knew. "I want. I want to take you to the reunion tomorrow so you can help me with my therapy homework. Six o'clock tomorrow." 

Michael rolled his eyes, but he also leaned forward and offered Alex a very soft kiss. That turned into a very hard kiss. And then another one.

Michael's mouth was sweet and warm and even though he smelled more like beer and engine grease than he had at seventeen. But under that was that scent of rain, the one you only got in the desert after a long dry summer finally broke.

End of that, Alex should not have been driving to his hotel room alone, but hey, no one died and no vehicles were injured. He also forgot to ask Michael why he was still in Roswell instead of designing rockships for NASA. Michael’s distraction techniques were probably something he should look into studying.

**

Back in his hotel, Alex took off his leg and replaced it with a crutch, managed an awkward, seated shower, and put cream on the abused flesh before calling Cam.

She picked up on the first ring, breathing a little too hard, like she’d been doing something else when Alex interrupted her. 

“How did the job go, sir?” she asked. He frowned and shrugged, as if she could see him. Settled down on the bed, playing with the comforter with his free hand.

“It didn’t,” he admitted. “It isn't done."

There was a beat of long silence from Cam before she finally stated the obvious, “this is not good.”

Alex sighed and yawned. “It’s fine. I'll do it tomorrow.”

There was another pause, like she was considering further. “Well how does it look? Rough? A walk? In between?”

Alex bit his lower lip. “It's fine. It looks fine. Totally normal, average job.”

He didn’t need to see her sneer, he could feel it. Radiating. Judging him. Finding him wanting in the most hilarious ways possible “You haven't looked at the dossier.” It was not a question.

Alex had, in fact, not looked at the dossier. “I've looked at it.”

“Right. Well, I have to call the client and give them a reason why you're late.”

Alex laughed. “Tell them I went to Roswell and got abducted by aliens. Also, find out who the hell tipped off my fucking family that I was going to be here. Because they’re trying to kill me now.”

There was another moment of silence. “Right, sir. I'll call them and tell them you're taking your time, like the professional you are. And find out about your family.”

“That would be everything I’m looking for,” Alex said.

“Aliens, sir,” Cam returned. Alex hung up the phone and stared at the spot he had stashed the unopened dossier about his target. Fuck. Well.

He pulled out his briefcase, pushing through the lock that was coded to his DNA and put aside some of the weaponry, laying out guns, knives and explosives as he did. There was an envelope inside and he started to open it when the hotel room phone rang, loud and brash. Alex frowned at it, put the envelope aside and went to pick it up.

Michael Guerin’s disgruntled voice came in on the line. “Tammi in the lobby connected me to your room. You never gave me your cell.”

Alex grinned, the envelope forgotten already, and lay back down on the bed, feeling the towel and comforter on his bare skin. “I dunno, giving you my number? That’s a major step in our new relationship, Guerin.”

Michael sputtered on the other end. ”You're fucking psycho, Alex.”

Alex laughs out loud. If he thinks about it, he can pretty much still feel Michael’s stubble on his skin, feel the prickle of it. Smell the rain scent of his body. “Don't rush to judgement until all the facts are in.”

Michael sighed noisily. Alex could almost feel the warmth of his breath through the phone..“So, how do you feel about phone sex?”

He grinned. “Sounds positive to me.”

Alex sprawled out, weaponry and accoutrements of his career next to bare skin, still shower damp. His stump was starting to throb again, everything was objectively a mess. He was fucking up this job. He was still smiling like an idiot.

He was about to have phone sex with Michael Guerin.

This was fine.

Michael said, “Well, I’m positive I know where your hand is right now.” And, not wanting to prove him wrong, Alex put it exactly there.

This was fine, he told himself again, to the tune of Michael's voice, now actually just for him. This was better than fine.

He pretended the callused palm sliding down his stomach was Michael's and heard his own bitten off moan.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alex shows up at the appointed time while ignoring the mission. 
> 
> Also, more Manes family drama, Kyle Valenti who is actually not a therapist, and enter Isobel Evans, queen bee influencer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who is reading along with this, your comments and kudos give me life.

Alex avoided the Crashdown and the Ortecho sisters to hit the 47 Malt Shop at the UFO emporium for breakfast that morning. It was kind of shitty but there was no way he wanted to see Rosa 'tell the truth' Ortecho. He was going to have to figure that one out before it bit him in the ass like everything else.

Later, he'd do it later.

It wasn't crowded and he snagged himself a booth before breaking vitamins into his milkshake so he could pretend it was healthy. He probably needed to open up that dossier. After the reunion maybe.

Unfortunately, he'd left himself exposed to Fucking Flint, grinning manically as he slid into the booth, across from Alex.

Alex drew his nasty little PPK pistol from his waist, leveling it steadily at Flint under the table. Flint's stupid grin didn't waiver, probably because he had his own pistol out, visible under a layer of coat.

"Looks like we have ourselves a good old fashioned New Mexican standoff, little brother," Flint sneered. 

Alex rolled his eyes. "Did you get that joke from Dad? It's almost as funny as some of his."

The waitress interrupted them. Amazingly, she had not gone to high school with either one of them. She didn't have the alien antenna that the Crashdown waitresses wore and you could see a lot more skin in that uniform. It was wasted on Alex, but Flint did a brief eyefuck that annoyed Alex on the stranger's behalf.

His finger tightened on the trigger.

"Hi. Welcome to the 47 Malt Shop. My name is Melanie and I'll be your server this morning. Let me tell you about some of our specials. Today we have the "cowboys and aliens," our feature omelette, with all the green chilies your heart can tolerate."

Alex and Flint's eyes locked back on each other as if they’d never paused.

"Sure, Meghan, sounds great," Flint said, licking his lips. “Can I have that and some black coffee?”

"Another milkshake and two poached eggs," Alex said from between his teeth. "And french fries."

The waitress sauntered off with a shrug, as if this was her typical day.

Flint gave her another sidelong glance. Her ass departing at least. Alex rolled his eyes. Fucking straights.

"Look, sorry about JJ yesterday?" Flint said, with that same stupid smile.

Alex snorted. "What, butchering a Long kid and causing an incident that made the news? No harm no foul, at least he blew up all the cameras in the store. I hacked the online feed, we’re good." 

"You know how it goes, it's the family misunderstandings that really blow up."

Alex stared at him. He did not groan.

"Dad told him to kill you and he didn't," Flint said after he realized that Alex wasn’t going to grace his one liners with a response, managing to express his feelings without moving anything but his eyes.

Alex shrugged minutely without letting his gun hand waiver. “Well, that’s what dad gets for sending JJ. Keeping it in the family is great and all, but some of us are better at this than others.”

Flint returned the shrug, acknowledging the point. “Bygones, right? Since we're both here, I think it's time to take another look at how we can all start over and actually be a family again.” 

“Oh, right, are you going to try to recruit me into dad’s family business crap again? I didn't get into this line of work to be “a family again”.” Alex paused his air quotes and took a deep breath. "Listen-- "Lone gunman." Get it? "On my own." That's the whole point of this gig, that’s why I left the fucking Airforce, so I didn’t have to deal with this anymore. Why don’t you get married and spawn or something? Then you can drink coffee in the morning with someone you’ve actually tricked into giving a fuck about you.”

Flint blinked at him. In the shitty light, he actually looked like… maybe he had a feeling and Alex had hurt it? 

Alex sighed. “Come on, Flint. I’m pretty sure this thing I’m in town on is my last job, so you don’t have to worry about me messing up the family reputation anymore. We can put our guns away, you can walk and tell dad you pitched me again and I said I was going to skip town and not mess with whatever you assholes are into?” 

And that was when Flint lost it. Right there. In living color. At actual volume. “Fuck you! Fuck you, Alex! There is a chain of command in this family and you fucking know that. You fucking know that, none of this loner shit, you don’t get to just fuck off, assasiante warlords and screw alie--” Flint cut himself off abruptly and took a couple of deep, long breaths. 

People were staring at them now and Alex could feel it prickling on the back of his neck and he did not care for it. Like ants crawling, making him want to run for it. “You have absolutely convinced me now. Let me get out my greeting card collection, the prodigal has returned, I’m ready to be a family again.” 

Flint’s eyes were narrowed to points. “Fine. But, you should know that we're not going to let you do your job. Because we're gonna do it, we’re going to take down your target for you. And then, after we do your job, we're gonna do another little job…”

Alex gave a wry grin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah-- after I shoot you through the fucking forehead I'm gonna fuck you in the bullethole.”

“Sounds queer, Flint,” Alex said, grinning outright. “Maybe it’s contagious, better hope dad doesn’t catch you saying thaaaaatt.”

Flint jumped up on his feet, gun barely hidden in his jacket and careened into Melanie the waitress. Their food splattered across the floor and Flint used it to cover his escape off into the street.

Alex repressed yet another eyeroll. “Sorry about him, you can’t choose who you’re related to,” he said, and tipped her with two twenties on his own way out the door.

**

Alex did not open the dossier. After, after the reunion. Instead he sat at his generic hotel desk, staring at the reunion card. He tossed it aside, eventually, and got up to the mirror. He had on a black leather jacket with a soft red shirt underneath that hugged the muscle in his shoulders.

Not exactly his old school eye-makeup and piercings gig, but then again he wasn’t seventeen anymore, no matter how much he still wanted to fuck Michael Guerin.

Everyone hated reunions, right? Everyone did this shit, this getting nervous shit. 

"Hey, it’s me, Alex Manes, I play in an emo band, no I gave all that kid stuff up and now I sell couch insurance. I test-market positive thinking for social media. I lead a weekend men's group, actually. We specialize in ritual killings. Want to hear my thoughts on queer eye?"

"Hi, I'm Alex Manes, remember me? I'm still gay and a snappy dresser, and I'd blow your brains out if someone paid me enough... So how've you been? Are we keeping America great or what?"

He sighed and went back to his seat on the desk. The unopened envelope mocked him from its location on the bed.

He put his guns and spare knives in their proper places, and then, armed and armoured, he stopped. Considered.

Stopped again.

Left them where he'd found them. This was a reunion, right? Not a war. Just a pistol in case of brothers.

Fuck.

He strapped the weaponry back on. Then off again. Fuck.

On impulse, he stopped at a gas station on the way, one that hadn't blown up.

** 

Alex showed up at Michael's airstream at 6 sharp, in his black leather jacket with a fistful of gas station roses. 

Michael's eyebrows rose, all golden and tawny in the early evening. He had on a soft looking white shirt that showed off the tanned skin stretched over his collarbones and managed to be short of transparent and old painted on jeans.

Alex handed him the flowers wordlessly and tried not to think about whether Michael had meant it about there being sex.

Michael's expression looked cheerful enough as he stared down at the three surprisingly red blooms. "Roses," he said. "Very desert, super local. I'll go find some acetone to put these in.”

Then he turned and vanished into the trailer again. Not, unfortunately, leaving Alex alone in the junkyard to wait for him. Oh no. Not alone at all.

Isobel Evans stared him down like he had personally broken the heel of her perfectly expensive pumps. There was not a strand of hair out of place and her eyeliner was impeccably applied. As always, Alex was impressed by that more than anything else. Woman needed to host a youtube channel or something. She was seated on a broken lawnchair in a junkyard like she was a queen on a throne.

"Alex Manes," she said, "I don't know where you've been since you abandoned my brother ten years ago, and I don't care. It was good that you left, and I'm glad you did." There was a pause. "You've grown up a snack at least, lost the ill advised clashing prints and whatever that thing was in your nose."

"It was a septum piercing." Right before the end, before he'd been shipped to basic, Dad had insisted it come out. With pliers on hand to finish the job if Alex wasn't into it. That had been a trip. "Tell me how you really feel, Isobel."

Isobel let her perfectly manicured nails drum against the arm of the lawn chair she was sprawled in. "I've actually always visualized you as still being one of those tattooed, pierced assholes that shows up to open mike night at the coffee house and gets attractive consultant types to drool over you and pay for your shit so they can pretend they were ever cool. So it's a nice surprise to see you looking decent."

Alex managed to stifle a snicker, but barely. That was good. “Actually, I'm more of the camo and suits kind of asshole who does business with lead-pipe cruelty and goes home to drink light beer in milky-eyed isolation. I collect guns and watch discovery channel documentaries on Netflix about how UFOs built the Pueblos instead of my ancestors and have no real relationships with anyone, just too much cheap sex. And what about you?"

She smiled, thin lipped and no teeth. “Oh, you know me, Manes. I'm still the queen bee influencer. I married a partner at the only law firm in Roswell that’s martin-hubble rated and I secretly run this town. But why don't we have a drink and move on?”

With that, she stood up abruptly and strode over to a cooler by the trailer. 

“Why not?” Alex said, with a bigger shrug than necessary. Isobel tossed a high end IPA at him. Clearly purchased by her, not Michael. He caught it with one hand and snapped it open. He shouldn't with the meds he was on, but fuck it.

“So what are you doing with your life now?” she asked as she cracked open her own. 

Alex swallowed a long gulp of the beer. It was cold at least. “Oh. I'm a professional killer.”

Isobel rolled her eyes. "Terrific. I'm an alien psychic who will scramble your brains when you hurt my brother again."

This time Alex’s twisted face wasn’t because of the bottle of hops masquerading as beer he was drinking. "Oh my god, what is it with this town and aliens?"

Fortunately, Michael chose that moment to swing back out of the airstream and bound over to them. “Okay, let’s go. See you at your party, Iz. Surprised you're not there already.”

"Well, I didn't want to miss my shot to talk to Alex before we were in a crowd of people. It's so nice to catch up with him, you know."

"Right," Alex said. "Great catching up with you too."

It was with great something-- great relief mostly-- that Michael just shrugged, grabbed Alex by the hand and dragged him to his car.

"Later, Iz!" He called over his shoulder.

Well that went well...ish.

**

Driving through Roswell was still surreal as hell. Especially with Michael in the car next to him, sprawled out in the passenger seat. Legs spread like some kind of highschool wet dream, dressed like a mechanic from a porntube video.

Alex swallowed. "Hey. Want to get a drink first?"

Michael raised his eyebrow. "I thought you weren't drinking much with your meds and you already had a beer. Anyway, Isobel planned this thing. They'll have booze there."

Alex frowned, worrying his lower lip and tapping the steering wheel with his hands. "That's fair," he said. He tried, with minimal success, to keep his hands steady on the wheel.

"Are you ok? Alex?' Michael asked, eyes softening again with visible concern. "You're looking kind of green."

Alex shook his head, jerked his hands on the wheel and pulled back into the gas station parking lot. "Gotta pee," he said, "just be a second."

Michael looked confused but not unwilling. "If you duck into an unmarked vehicle and I never see you again, I'm not giving you another chance," he said, but smiling to take the sting out of it.

Alex ran around the back and pressed the button to dial Kyle. Miraculously, he picked up.

"You and Guerin aren't here yet," Kyle said. Somewhere in the back, Alex could hear Green Day being pumped into a sound system. "He's supposed to DJ before the band starts up."

"Oh," Alex said. "You're there. Wow."

Kyle laughed painfully. "Hey, it's my high school reunion too. And I want to make sure you don't try to kill my mom."

Alex swallowed. Took a deep breath. Let the words come out. "Yeah. Well, I didn't kill anyone at all, so, you know, but someone tried to kill me and the guy in the middle got killed. It was JJ actually. I'll probably kill him if I can, because he's had it coming for years, but I won't kill anyone else. Maybe my brother Flint and my dad. Oh, except for the guy I was sent here to kill. I guess."

He could hear the deep, deep sigh while Kyle practiced his own breathing. "Okay. Ok, Alex, I've been reading up on some manualized treatment techniques. Just for you, because I am not a psychiatrist or a psychologist or anything remotely close to trained for this, remember? But listen, just-- repeat this after me."

Alex blinked and looked around. No one in sight. Michael hopefully had not fled the scene yet. "Out loud?" he asked.

"Yes. Out loud," Kyle sounded sure of himself and Alex figured he'd probably earned this much good faith so he did.

Kyle said it, and then Alex did. “...I am at home with the me. I am rooted in me, who is on this journey.” He probably sounded like an idiot. This was probably on purpose.

“Ok, that’s great, Alex. Take a deep breath and realize that this is me breathing,” Kyle said.

Alex made a face. Fine. “This is me breathing.” He took a few deep, even breaths. Maybe he did feel better. Or maybe he just wanted to stop doing this. “This manualized treatment stuff is great and all, but I've gotta go now.”

Kyle paused again. “Ok. Just don't kill anyone. Please?”

Alex laughed. “Right. Don't kill anyone… got it. I am cured of killing thanks to your mantra, Dr. Valenti."

**

It was possible they took a pause to get some hands on each other in the car. Just kissing. But it wasn’t just kissing when it was Guerin.

Never had been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some of my favorite parts so I really hope you like it!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they attend the reunion and Alex finally, finally gets some. And then a brother shows up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We earn the sex and violence tags in the section.

By the time he and Michael pulled into the parking lot, Alex was sweating, even though it wasn’t anything like hot. His skin itched and he tried not to scratch it. The part of his leg that was missing was the itchiest piece of nonexistent skin he had ever had.

Should’ve brought my gun, he thought. Michael blinked at him and he wondered if he’d said that out loud.

“Huh?” Michael asked and Alex shrugged it off. 

The setup inside was actually attractive, which seemed like a minor miracle. Isobel Evans glared at them both when they walked in the door as if she’d been there for hours, waiting.   
“Alex,” she said, through her teeth. “Michael. You guys are later than you should have been. Did Alex try to run for it on the way down here?”

Michael rolled his eyes, shrugged his shoulders and sauntered right past her, shouting, “I’m going to go DJ now,” and abandoning Alex like it was his turn to do that.

“Here’s your badge,” Isobel said, thrusting one at Alex. He stared at it blankly. On it was a pixelated picture of his teenage face, complete with make-up, eyebrow and septum piercing and bangs in his eyes. At least it was too blurry to see his acne. “We had pictures put on, that way everybody knows who everybody was! Especially our disappearing acts!”

Alex considered that, and then Isobel’s narrow eyed smile. She, he noticed, did not have a badge on. “That’s… really an amazing form of torture, you’re good.”

Isobel probably would have said something else, but she was distracted by a handsome, dark skinned man coming in from behind and draping himself over her shoulder with a pleasant smile.

“So, you’re Alex,” smiling guy said. “It’s great to finally meet you!” He had a lot of teeth, Alex noticed that. They were a little too white, like shark teeth. That was creepy. He held out his hand. “I’m Noah Bracken, Isobel’s ball and chain and Michael’s favorite brother-in-law.”

“Yeah, sure, nice to meet you.” Alex blinked, smiled, and took the free hand. Noah shook while keeping one arm firmly around Isobel. Shark teeth-- well, Isobel had said she was married to a lawyer. But, hey, at least the guy kept Isobel still while Alex escaped over to the bar.

One non-IPA later, Kyle Valenti showed up at the bar, looking stupidly dapper in a suit, with a mildly hunted expression that Alex was used to seeing, but not directed at other people. Kyle looked over his shoulder at a very enthusiastic and wasted looking Kate Long. Alex restrained himself from mentioning her dead brother or cousin, or whatever Long relation it was that JJ had shot and blasted into component parts.

“Hi!” Kate said brightly. “I hear it's Doctor Valenti now! Football star to surgeon, that’s amazing. Do you have a girlfriend?”

Alex snickered into his beer. “Hi Kate,” he said. “Good to see you again.” She frowned, distracted from her laser focus and looked him over, eyes fixing on his badge to mouth his name.

“Hi… um… Alexander.” She frowned again, looking him up and down, and shaking her head. “Oh, Alex! Alex Manes. You don’t look gay anymore!” She turned to Kyle, as if remembering her favorite jock who used to whisper faggot under his breath and stick gay porn in Alex’s locked back in senior year. “Doesn’t he look normal now?”

Kyle’s eyebrows climbed up and he squirmed, visibly. “You’re really drunk,” he managed. “So maybe you have no idea how you sound?”

Kate just giggled and tried to sidle up closer to him.

Alex bit his lip and stage whispered. “This is me, breathing.” Kyle glared at him. 

Mr. Noah Bracken was the one that came to the rescue, sliding in between Kate and Kyle, to Kate’s delight and Kyle’s relief. “Hey guys!”

“A doctor and a lawyer!” Kate said, clapping her hands.

“Super interesting!” Alex said cheerfully.

“What kind of law do you practice, Noah?”   
Kyle said, flagging down the bartender as he spoke.

“Civil, primarily,” Noah said. “Mostly family law and estates. Divorce and death, you know.”

“Totally related, I can see why you married Isobel!” Alex said. Kate made a soft noise of disappointment.

"Yeah, she's great. She designed these pens for the firm, want one?" Noah reached into his pocket and handed Alex a fancy looking pen. Real metal heft to it. 

Alex took it. The bartender wandered over a moment later with a beer. 

“Bet it all makes you thirsty!” He grabbed the bottle Kyle had ordered out of his waiting hands and casually said, “Grabbing this one for Guerin.”

Kyle glared at him, open mouthed, while Noah just kept smiling like he meant everything he said.

Alex never got to Guerin, who seemed to be safely ensconced in the DJ booth, because Liz Ortecho, looking gloomy in a black dress, intercepted him on his way. 

“Alex,” she hissed, grabbing at his arm. “Why are we back here in this fucking town? These people are all crazy. Isobel Evans gave me a name tag that has National Honor Society member on it, do you see? What the fuck? Something is wrong with her.”

Alex shrugged. 

“Don’t look at me like that, I know this town makes you want to puke too,” she hissed.

“I mean, you could save Valenti from Kate Long and Isobel’s shark mouthed husband,” he said. “That would be distracting.” Liz frowned, looking at Kyle’s still hunted expression and lack of booze and then nodded.

“Good plan. Catch you later, Manes.” She marched off, presumably to get her friends with benefits and make sure he was still benefiting her.

That left Alex colliding with Wyatt fucking Long, Kate’s even more irritating twin. 

“Hey, so I heard you were back and sniffing around Guerin again,” Long said. “Are you the reason he broke it off with DeLuca?”

Alex rolled his eyes, “Yeah, man, we’ve been having a torrid long term affair since high school. I bought him a pied a terre in San Francisco and we marched together in parades in the Castro while he pretended to be a broke mechanic and the sleazy DJ in Roswell, New Mexico.”

Rosa Ortecho showed up from some clump of high school degenerates in the back, surprisingly sober looking and having his back. “Those two idiots haven't seen each other since high school.”

Long laughed at that. “Well, that probably makes the sex better. No homo. So what have you been doing, Manes? Joined the chair force like your dad?” 

Rosa rolled her eyes and said, “Alex here is a war hero so show a little respect, Long. He lost his leg in Afghanistan. Why are you even here, didn’t your little cousin get blown up in a freak gas station accident?”

Wyatt shrugged and drank some more of his beer. “Thanks for your service, Manes,” he told Alex. “I respect our troops!”

“Don’t worry,” Alex said, reaching out to clap him on the back and laughing to himself when he winced at the impact. “I just did it for attention." He laughed again shrugging his shoulders. 

"Sure you did," Rosa said. 

Alex frowned, because what did she know. "Anyway, I'm not exactly out. I mean not really…" he paused because both of them, and everyone else within earshot, was suddenly staring at him expectantly and when had that happened. "Almost. I’ve got one last thing I need to do, and then I’m out for good. I mean, I’d rather be out right now, but I can’t yet so--”

Rose stared at him still, too much knowledge in her dark eyes. Why the hell did she have to know what she knew? “Sounds like you're second guessing yourself. Why don’t you take a cue from high school Alex and live the way you want. That kid did what he wanted, not what other people told him to do.”

Kyle, who had clearly escaped Kate Long’s tentacles again, thanks to Liz, appeared at Alex’s other side, grinning. Liz was getting their drinks. “Ortecho’s got a point, Alex.”

Alex rolled his eyes. “If only adult life was that simple.” 

He was saved from anything else by Guerin on the speaker system. The sound of his voice disrupted Alex’s train of thought completely and by the time he looked up again he was standing there alone, Kyle and Rosa had gone off to collect Liz's drinks and Wyatt crawled back to whatever hole he’d crawled out of.

"And now, a song by my ex-wife, who couldn't be bothered to be here today because she's smarter than the rest of us. The incomparable Maria Deluca." Guerin’s voice had turned fond, easy going in a way that Alex couldn’t remember hearing since he'd been back.

He put on a song and it was-- it was really good. Alex, who hadn't listened to music with any attention in years because it felt like too much, knew it was good.

Alex waited, just staring at his feet until Michael stepped off stage and sauntered over to him.

"So. Um. You really were married?" Alex said out loud to Guerin for the first time. As if he didn't already know, as if Michael hadn't already basically confirmed it. He heard his own voice crack and a lump invaded his throat. He was now once again picturing one of his best friends walking down the aisle with his-- whatever. She’d probably looked awesome. “To Maria DeLuca? When?”

Guerin rolled his eyes at him. "Like, five years ago. Married in Vegas, divorced in Las Cruces. Keep up, Manes."

"And Maria married you?" He didn't know why the note of disbelief crept into his voice. Had Guerin and DeLuca even been friends in high school? He couldn't remember them even talking much. 

"Well you weren’t interested, obviously. But she wised up and hightailed it for better places than Roswell, so she took a leaf out of your book.” Michael gave him another long, considering look. “So. How about you, Alex? Any wedding bells in your lost decade? You never told me much about you."

Alex sighed, trying to shake the image of Maria all in white and Guerin in a suit and how they would have-- but they were divorced. And they got married in Vegas. And. And suddenly, he was talking again. "Nah. The mercenary life was really more back alleys and did we really just manage to not die fucking in the back of a Humvee, to be honest."

“Right,” Guerin muttered, looking away, just for a moment before his gaze flipped back to Alex. “This shit again.”

“And I was really hung up on you, so…”

Guerin laughed, but it came out bitter. “Maybe you should have sent me a postcard about that. They let you do that without return addresses these days, I heard people say.” 

Alex swallowed hard. He was blowing it, he could feel himself blowing it, come on Manes, don't blow it. "I didn't… I, even though I left, you never left me, ok. I'm not-- you're in my blood. Like a substance. Just there. Always, under the surface."

The set of Michael's chin softened a tiny bit. His curls always looked soft, as if made for careful touching. "What, like meth? I hear there's rehab for that." 

"No. No. Come on." Alex shook his head. "Don't. Deeper than that, Michael. You're deeper than that."

Michael sighed, but the edge of his mouth curled up. Careful now. "What, like love?"

Alex let out a breath. "If love were a substance. Yeah?" He didn't intend to make it a question but Michael seemed to understand what he meant.

Michael gave a quick firm nod. "I'll allow it. Come on."

He pulled his hands out of his pockets where they'd been shoved and grabbed Alex's. Alex surprised himself by not startling at the unexpected touch, but then it was Michael. His grip was hot and steady, his right palm was calloused and perfect. 

"Where are we going?" Alex asked, but he walked where he was pulled.

Michael's smile was beautiful. "I'm going to bring you to the principal's office and fuck you over her desk," he said. Like that was fine.

"Oh. Good." Ok. That was fine. Alex's pulse did not jump.

"Good, I'm glad you approve." Michael locked the door to the tiny closet of an office behind them.

When the lock clicked, Alex tried to think of the truest thing he could, something that worked for the look on Michael's face, the honey warm of his eyes, but what came out was, "I really, really missed your cock, Guerin. You have no idea. I don't even know how to tell you how much."

Michael grinned, bright and sunny. "You know what? Could be I have some idea. Come on, pull your pants down."

Alex rolled his eyes and wordlessly did it. It was more of a production than it used to be, pre-prosthetic, but Michael's expression hadn't changed since the last time he watched Alex strip. When they'd been seventeen, dumb as rocks and nothing but hope between them.

Like nothing had changed since then.

His eyes were gentle.

"Hey," Michael whispered, and dragged his too warm hand through Alex's hair, cupping around the back of his neck and bringing him in for a kiss. He smelled that rain scent, fresh and damp, water in the desert.

Michael’s other hand, the scarred one, slipped down over the bare vulnerable skin of Alex's ass. It should have been terrifying, but it felt like a standard jump instead, he was ready for the stomach plummeting feeling, braced.

Braced and held hard and kissed, hungry and still careful. All that frantic energy safely contained in the electricity of Michael's hands. The slick wetness of a mouth he hadn't touched for so long until these last few days but was still totally familiar, perfectly safe because nothing else felt that way.

He ended up splayed face first on the desk, looking at some kid's progress report and plans for renovating the gym while Michael's tongue glided down the curve of his ass and Michael's fingers parted his cheeks.

Careful, hot breath on his hole, and his own cock was dripping precome and oh damn the papers under him were gonna be unrecoverable.

He snickered and Michael laughed and slapped his right ass cheek, just hard enough, "hey, Alex, pay attention, I'm gonna eat you out."

Alex paid attention. He could hear the sounds that came out of his mouth, deep and raspy, all ruined. The feeling of wet and hot and flexible while his thighs quivered and the desk kept him from collapsing on his the carbon and metal of his prosthetic.

He'd been cold for a long time, until this person, this one person, opened him up and warmed him through.

He was hard, dick wet and legs wide, wide spread when Michael had enough and the mouth on him was replaced by relentless, lube and latex slick flesh.

Michael Guerin had the best fucking cock, filled him up so damn good, unstoppable as a slow motion crash landing. Had the best hand, on Alex's hip, on his balls, on his cock, perfect for fucking into, all that friction.

He didn't even try to hold out, didn't give a fuck about stamina. Guerin didn't either, just cursed into his ear, into the back of his neck, all, "Alex, Alex, do you feel that, you're mine."

He saw stars, galaxies, superclusters. He smelled fresh earth, rivers, rain. He felt skin.

After, Michael smiled, his fingers playing in Alex's hair, tracing through sweat. "Wanna know a secret?" he whispered.

"Sure," Alex mumbled in return. The smile wouldn't fade from his face.

"It's always been you. Just you."

Alex's chest hurt, really and honestly. "Guerin," he said, "that's not a secret."

"Oh." And Michael smiled the way he did, sweet and slow, and only a little surprised. "Well good."

**

Michael took off first, headed down the hall to clean up and then say goodbye to Isobel. That left Alex to get himself together, clean the DNA evidence that was probably dripping out of him and try to wipe the truly stupid smile off his face.

Of course when Alex left the office, he almost ran headlong into something even dumber. It happened fast, almost no warning, more instinct that had him moving, spin pivot on his right heel, the flesh and blood one, just seconds before a shot pierced the spot where his head had just been.

The old locker door was battered by the impact of the bullet, but Alex was already moving, no gun because he was an idiot, but there was Noah's real metal pen still in his jacket pocket, now in his hand.

Cap off, all metal and heft, and he was driving it right into his brother JJ's fucking throat, through soft flesh, driving in hard and deep until his head snapped back and the gun in his hand dropped to the floor.

The hot burst of blood spurted out of JJ's artery, down the front of his body, off of his shoes, and on to the floor. Alex's hands were red with it, wet and sticky, like that warlord in Kabul with the fork, his brother's eyes already gone dark and still, just blood bubbles burbling out of the hole in his throat.

Down the hall, a door swung open, loud, punctuated, careless and Alex turned around toward it. 

Michael Guerin, eyes wide and dark in the dim light, stopped where he was. His hand went up to cover his mouth. That mouth.

Alex stared back at him, then to JJ. Dead and dead weight. Blood pooling on the floor. Wet. Wet.

Michael. Who said, in a soft, soft voice, "he attacked you, right?"

Alex blinked. Nodded his head wordlessly and pointed to the gun on the floor with his chin. 

Michael swallowed, throat moving. Mouth shut now, tight and plush, still soft. There was a green tinge to his skin that might have been the lights.

"Ok," Michael said. Alex still couldn't say anything, his throat felt closed, unreal under the weight of those eyes, the blank spreading shock in Michael's face. He couldn't move, he was still holding JJ up against the lockers. 

It was Michael who looked around then, head swinging wildly. Who ripped a giant cloth banner off the wall, something from the science fiction club, festooned with little green men.

Alex grabbed it from him, just as wordlessly. He wrapped it around JJ and then looked at Michael who was staring back with an expression that had to be straight shot trauma. Fuck.

"Could you hold him while I clean up?" Alex heard himself ask. Michael stared at him some more and then nodded and held out his hands.

Alex nodded back. He pulled off his shoe, the real one and put the sock over his hand like a glove, using it to wipe up the small pool of blood. It was good absorbent fabric and the floor was a mess anyway, already dark and sticky and neglected. After, he stuffed it into his pocket, soaked and bloody.

He took the body out of Michael's stiff, shaking arms. He hefted it over his shoulder, wincing a little at the weight. Fucking JJ liked his beer and snacks.

Alex took him down, down the back stairs, down an old brick hallway, down past where the old fall out shelter was, with its yellow radiation stickers. Warning. Warning.

Down and into an old laundry cart, picking the lock on the old cage that housed a blast furnace from the 80's that the county was too cheap to replace.

It was on now, heating the pool, probably. White hot and blazing and ready to take a body.

Alex threw the bloody sock after his brother, feeling the leather of his shoe stiff against his toes. Good. His oldest brother was dead. Just that, that was what he felt.

And Michael. Michael's face. His shaking sweaty hands.

**

Michael was not in the hallway where Alex had left him.

He was not in the now empty DJ booth.

He was not in the mostly empty hall.

Michael was gone.

Alex swallowed, rubbing his face with his hands. They smelled of cheap school soap, not rain, not anymore.

Noah Bracken was still holding up the bar and Alex smiled at him. "Hey," he said. "Thanks for the pen. Have you seen Michael anywhere?"

Noah just shrugged and shook his head. "I thought he was with you?" he offered.

"No," Alex said. "I don't think he is." Not anymore. That look. That look on Michael's face, right there at the end. 

Alex walked back out into the parking lot. Most of the cars were gone.

But there was Rosa Ortecho, leaning up against an old truck, smoking a joint.

"You look like shit, Manes," she said, breathing out a cloud of smoke. "Not having fun anymore?"

Alex shrugged, scanning around like Michael might appear after all.

"You could go after him," Rosa observed. She reached out, offering him a puff of her joint, but he shrugged it off.

He didn't see the point anyway. "I don't think we're going to work out," he said.

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard, even out of your mouth," Rosa said.

"I still have a job to do. I have to get my head back into the game," Alex replied.

"No, wait, that-- that's even dumber," Rosa sneered.

Alex shook his head. His eyes hurt. Everything felt sore and sticky. "Could you tell Michael I'm sorry? When you see him?"

"Whatever, asshole. See you in ten years." Rosa watched him leave. He could feel her eyes on his back but he didn't turn around.

**

In his hotel room, Alex hunched over the bed, shoulders shaking as he tore open the envelope and spilled out the contents of the dossier. 

Processing what he was actually seeing and reading took him even longer. Familiar and foreign and--

"Really," he hissed. "Really? Aliens? What the fuck is wrong with this town?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost at the home stretch!! The next chapter may take a little longer I'll see what I can do.
> 
> In the meantime your comments are very appreciated 🥰


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thrilling conclusion! All is revealed. People die. Our idiots yell cosmic truths at each other.
> 
> I love everyone in this bar. 😍

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could not have finished this without some last minute screaming at Hal and lambourn about the tone in the last scene.
> 
> Thank you guys, for finding this shit as hilarious as I do. I have never written 20k words of humor before, I don't know what to do with myself here.

The contents of the dossier were illuminating to say the least. Lots of shots of Isobel, mostly, in her house, at her office, mingled with credit reports and statistics leading right back to her adoption by the Evans family in 97.

Some fewer shots of Michael, but enough, at her house, at her wedding walking her down the aisle instead of her adopted father.

An old newspaper article about three children found wandering in the desert, one Guerin, one Isobel and the third, a boy unknown, adopted out of state. Trail gone cold.

But none of that was the good stuff, the stuff at the bottom, the stuff that suddenly made everything make sense.

The part about aliens and the '47 crash and how, unlike with the Easter Bunny, it was a thing and his father and family tree were ass-deep in it. How in the last ten years an alien serial killer was taking out the lost souls of Roswell.

The part about how Michael and Isobel _were it_. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. For a second, he wondered if they really were-- not Michael, Alex knew killers and Michael wasn't-- but Isobel Evans?

Then he looked deeper.

He wasn't too lost in the file to misplace his situational awareness so he looked up before there was a loud pounding on the door. He froze, just for a second, then went for the gun under his desk.

Stopped. What the hell was there to defend himself from anyway? What was the actual point of this? 

Holy shit.

He tossed the gun back on his bed, shook out the ache in his shoulder and then opened the door. Relaxed and ready for anything.

Anything but how Michael Guerin strode right through and moved past him into the room. He was wearing the same clothes as he had been at the reunion, he just had on his cowboy hat again, perched on his head like a shield.

Under it, he looked completely calm, which was unnatural in and of itself. Michael was twitchy and overdramatic. Michael was…

Michael was here and he looked like Michael, sounded like him when he stood in the middle of Alex's hotel room and said, "Everyone knows what JJ was like. He was trying to kill you, right?"

Alex swallowed and nodded. "Yeah."

Michael nodded back, eyes moving from Alex to the bed with the gun prominently displayed on it. He swallowed. "That's what happened, right? It was him, trying to kill you. And you protected yourself."

Alex nodded again, mechanically. "Yeah. Yes. Michael that is what happened."

Michael who then said, very unsteadily, "but you've…. you did that before. Have done that. In… in the Airforce?"

"Right. Yes. And after I was discharged. Professionally. For about five years now..."

"Well… shit. Alex." He shook his head, the hat dipping.

Alex opened his mouth and just talked, like he'd rehearsed it, "when I left, I joined the Airforce and took the service exam. They found my psych results fit a certain profile. A certain "Moral flexibility" would be the best way to describe it... I was loaned out to a CIA-sponsored program. It's called "mechanical operations." 

Michael stared at him, arms at his sides. "So, what, you're a regular James Bond, killing enemies of the state for the government?"

That made Alex shake his head, "No, no, no, I mean, not anymore. I couldn't really handle the chain of command crap, it reminded me of my dad."

That put Michael's eyebrows up, tilted his mouth, "so, that part, that was the part that reminded you of your dad?"

Alex squeezed his eyes shut, "Listen, I get the irony, Michael, I really do. The truth is, I started losing my taste for it, you know? There I was, in Kabul, sitting next to a dead dog and a warlord with a fork in him and all I could think about was maybe there was a meaning to life? And it wasn't this?"

"Oh wow, a meaning to life… that's original."

"I kept thinking about who I was, when this whole thing started. That there's a point to everything? That I had connections, people who cared about me…"

Michael just stared at him again, blankly. "I mean yeah, but, Alex...."

Alex swallowed and kept pushing on ahead when Michael stopped, "Which is why I need to ask you something. I'm leaving Roswell. Will you come with me?" Alex worried his lower lip, pulling it in by his teeth.

"Are you-- is this a joke?" Michael moved abruptly, bad hand twitching like it hurt. "I need to get some air."

'Don't go," Alex whispered. Michael turned back around and stared at him.

"Why the hell shouldn't I?"

Alex made his mouth move. "Because. Um. I know who you are. You and Isobel."

Michael's eyes got big then, wide and wet and suddenly scared. Then he swallowed. "Who I am?" He asked softly. "Or what I am?"

Alex tried his best to look reassuring, something that had never been a strong suit of his. He ended up shrugging and saying, "Yes."

Michael did not look reassured. If anything, he drew back another step, arms going out in front of himself, protectively. "And so that's why I can't go?" he asked, whisper soft.

Alex shook his head hard, frantic, "no, no, no it's not like that. I just-- I'm sorry. I just don't want you to go."

"Ok, me too, I don't want to go," Michael whispered and fled.

About twenty minutes later Michael was pinging the surrviellance equipment Alex had stashed at the radio station. Down he went, Alex watched him on camera. Down into the basement of the building where he frowned at a door that had been too heavy for Alex to move and glared at it until it opened by itself.

Huh telekinesis? That was cool.

Alex manually adjusted the camera manually and got a brief glimpse of what was down there. Beautiful and glowing and utterly alien.

It turned out, Michael was building something amazing after all, it just wasn't for NASA.

All Alex had to do was save him from the psychos he was related to.

He picked up his phone and dialed up Cam, putting her on Bluetooth while he suited up with his blade prosthetic. He was for sure gonna need to move with it.

"Cam, I'm not doing the job," he said. "We're closing down the office because they're gonna come after me."

He heard the sigh on the other end, "I'm actually not surprised to hear that, sir," she said.

"It's been a privilege working with you," Alex said, as he went through his weapon stash, keeping an eye on the cameras. Michael seemed to be alone, they were probably going after Isobel first. "You got enough cash to go to ground in style? Get into the stash in the vault."

"You know it. I hope I score an invitation to the wedding," Cam said, cool amusement underlying her tone.

"That might be a little premature, he isn't taking this well," Alex said, shaking his head.

"He forgave you for vanishing off the face of the planet for ten years and letting him think you were dead, Alex," Cam said. He could hear the smile. And she'd actually used his name, which was nice. "What's a little homicide?"

"I hope he takes your flexible approach to this, Jenna," Alex said. "But yeah, if he does, I'm gonna track you down with that invitation."

She laughed. "That almost sounds like a threat."

"Believe it." He hung up smiling. He had a Queen Bee to save.

** 

Isobel was out in her yard when Alex came roaring in, swerving to a stop while she screamed and his car blocked a sniper's line of sight.

The air was thick with a dusty yellow pollen, out of season and everywhere.

Isobel stared at him in wide eyed horror that quickly shifted into rage as she strode over and slammed the passenger seat of his car open.

"What the fuck is the matter with you, Manes? You just drove through my yard," she hissed.

Alex glared back, unimpressed, "guess what? I was hired to kill you. It's what I do, and come to think of it, I told you that, but… given you're you, I suppose I won't belabor that. Get in the car, we need to get to Michael."

Isobel did, wordlessly. She frowned, touching her head and looking at him and then touching her head again. Alex finally took pity on her. "Whatever you're feeling right now, it's probably the pollen," he said. "It was developed to suppress alien powers after the '47 crash. Your powers."

Isobel's green brown eyes were wide then, the first real fear he'd seen out of her. "I don't know what you're talking about, if you mean that dumb joke I told you earlier, it's obviously not--"

Alex shook his head, cutting her off. "Don't bother. I'm going to help you."

She swallowed and shook her head, "Michael's not here, I don't know where he is, you don't need to--"

That actually hurt, "Isobel, stop. I'm not gonna hurt Michael."

She nodded, arms wrapped around herself, but not exactly disbelieving.

"You were hired to kill me? Who hired you? Why?" she demanded.

Alex sighed. It wasn't that he was never the bearer of the worst news of someone's life, it was just that usually he only had to see them react to it for a few seconds before they died. This seemed like it would be more up Valenti's alley.

"Noah is an alien too and he decided to get rid of you because you were drawing my family's attention to what he was doing. Well Michael was, but you're his sister."

Isobel looked grey in a way even her perfect makeup couldn't cover. "That's not true," she said. And then, "what was he doing?"

So Alex told her. Quietly and concisely. About the dossier and how Isobel was taking the blame for a string of murders Noah committed.

"How do you know it wasn't me?" Isobel asked, quiet now, blank faced.

"I saw pictures of the handprints he left on their faces." Alex shrugged. "I shook his hand at the reunion, they definitely were Noah's."

"Oh," Isobel said. Then shut up.

They drove over to the radio station in near silence. There was no one hanging out around the building yet, the only vehicle was Michael's truck, but it was a matter of time and not a lot of time. 

He moved as fast as he could, Isobel at his side. To the door of the bunker in the basement.

"Michael!" Alex heard himself yell. "Could you listen to me?

"Michael, please," Isobel screamed and that got him out. And then fuck there was a blast as he opened up the bunker door. Smoke bomb was Alex's instant thought, shielding his eyes, but it was more of the pollen.

"We have to get out of here," Alex said. "If there's something you need, grab it."

Isobel stared wide eyed into Michael's makeshift lab like she'd never seen it. The glowing, brilliant, clearly alien material. Michael shook his head, "I'm not leaving this. It's ten years of my work."

Alex couldn't ask, there wasn't time. "Fine," he hissed, "pack it up." He looked down at his watch, which was pinging a perimeter alarm. They were definitely breached.

Alex went out, gun hand at the ready. His brother was out there, standing on the porch, calm as hell with a shotgun in his hands.

Flint Manes just nodded, and said, "I always hoped we could avoid this ending."

"Don't bother, you've been itching to kill me for years." Alex got to finish the whole sentence before he ducked a shotgun shell.

"They're not human, Alex," Flint called while Alex took cover behind a heavy metal door. "Guerin's probably been influencing you for all those years. He's the real reason you're not one of us."

Alex laughed out loud, "yeah, influencing me to act like a person instead of a Manes man. I had to avoid him for ten years because the second I saw him again, I knew it would be all over."

There was a shot, heavy enough to bend the door, but it didn't buckle. Alex gave some answering fire, hearing a crash as something broke.

Alex's watch buzzed against his wrist with more perimeter alarms. He took a glance down and frowned. Time to end this charade before any of Flint's goons got to Michael.

He took a dive back into the recording booth, exchanging fire. There was a guy he didn't know down the hall and Alex got him, a nice clean shot through the forehead. 

Another guy, the steady gait of military in his pace while Alex considered his options. He was running low on bullets and that could be a problem, especially with Flint still out there.

He took a deep breath and aimed. The shot was messier, a gut wound, and the goon screamed.

Alex gave him a clean headshot and moved backwards toward the bunker. Michael was there, beautiful and square shouldered, holding a gorgeous and pretty useless antique six shooter. At least he was holding it like he knew how it fired.

He looked at Alex, wide golden brown and green eyes, soft mouth.

Alex looked back at him, at his mouth, the warmth of his lips.

"Alex," Michael said, helplessly.

Right ok. Alex could talk and shoot at the same time. "I was sitting there alone on prom night in a goddamned rented tuxedo, and the whole night flashed before my eyes. What my dad did to us. How I couldn't stop him. And I realized finally and for the first time that I wanted to kill somebody. So, I figured since I loved you so much, it'd be a good idea if I didn't see you anymore."

Michael just kept staring at him, while Alex shot at a guy who was wearing really ill advised seventies jeans. Those things were going to tangle.

"How was I supposed to know that. You didn't tell me any of that." Michael held his gun like he knew how to use it, but he didn't take a shot that was a gimme. Alex took it for him.

Bye bell bottom guy.

"Look, I wasn't exactly raised in a healthy, loving environment," Alex tried again.

Michael glared at him, "neither was I, but I still picked up on the idea that killing people was maybe not so ok."

Alex squeezed his eyes shut, just for a second. The hall was clear. "Michael, please."

Michael made a sound. "Alex, no. I'm a literal alien from another planet, hatched out of a pod like something from a horror movie. All this time, I've been worried that-- what if I'm actually a monster? A horror movie monster. But I'm not. Are you?"

"You don't understand what I'm saying here!" Alex shouted, louder than he'd meant to.

"Then help me understand, Alex. Make me understand," Michael hissed back, still wide eyed.

Alex tried again. "Look, I know that my childhood is no excuse, I know that, but it's a reason. And I know, I know that I have to be the one to change. I can't do it for you, I have to do it for myself."

"Thank you emo Hallmark," Michael muttered and finally looked away. 

Without the intensity of his angry gaze, Alex could breathe. He also felt like he was freezing to death. "You want emo Hallmark? Ok. My soul is empty, and I have to be the one to fill it. But I want your help."

Michael made a twisted, miserable face. "It's not your soul you're looking to get filled, don't lie. This isn't monster porn, you don't get to have me just to fill your void."

"No, no, you're wrong. I mean about the monster porn. I-- I wasn't lying, I love you, Michael. I told you, I know I need to change and I'm trying to do that. I just need time."

Michael swallowed, all messy curls and wet eyes. "You-- you love me? No substances?"

"I love you. Substance free. And I am ready to be the guy that is in it with you, ok? Saying that's not easy for me. I was raised to close off, to control my feelings…"

Michael swallowed visibly, his twisted, broken hand, the one that Alex's father had hammered to shattering that night ten years ago, twitching like it hurt him. "Ok. Ok. But you can't kill people anymore, Alex."

"Not people, ok. Just everyone in this building? And my dad when I can find him?"

Michael swallowed again, looked down at his hand then up at Alex. Then nodded, hard. And kissed him. A rough one, for the road. 

There was the errant sound of gunfire. Isobel screamed something incoherent from down the hall but it wasn't a scream of pain so Alex let the kiss go on a moment longer.

Michael flinched because letting it go was less easy for him. His lips were still parted, shiny and red. "Ok fine," he hissed. "Can you please save my sister?"

Alex nodded and grabbed on to his gun. He was out of cartridges but he could improvise. "Sure."

** 

Alex ran into Flint first, right down the hall. His brother's dark eyes were wild and he was hissing something into his coms. Not good.

Alex took a look around, noting a heavy as shit looking old fashioned CRT television just over Flint's head. Perfect.

He held up his gun hands, showing them to be empty. Act of faith even.

"So these Manes family shenanigans you think I need to involve myself in. Are there going to be family dinners?" Alex asked, pasting on what he hoped was an interested expression.

Flint grinned at him, letting his own hands lower, away from the holster of his gun. "Sure! We love that shit. Good old American family values. Fuck yeah."

Alex counted the seconds before Flint's hands were too far from the gun for him to get it by instinct before he grabbed the TV, forcing it down so that it slammed with all due force into the front of Flint's face. Glass shattered, plastic crumbled, Flint's head disappeared into the mess.

The sound and the resulting splatter was frankly really satisfying. Alex licked the blood off his mouth. "Sorry to tell you this way," he said to Flint's twitching body, "but I really, really hated fucking family dinners."

**

Alex did not need to save Isobel. Noah Bracken lay on the ground, open sightless eyes staring at the ceiling. There was an ice pick sticking out of his forehead.

Alex didn't even want to ask.

Isobel stared at him, disheveled, blood spattered and wide eyed, breathing hard. Her eye makeup though, that was still perfect. How the hell did she do that? “Still want to kill yourself an alien, Manes?”

“Isobel,” Alex said, panting, blood dripping down over his left eye, trying to remember he could not, in fact, get down on one knee because it would fuck his balance with the prosthetic. “We've just been through this. I am not going to kill you, ok? I’m in love with your brother and want your blessing. Anyway I have a newfound respect for life.”

Isobel heaved out another breath. He watched her visibly steady herself as she stared down at her dead husband. “Great. Lock him down this time.”

Alex nodded. Great idea. He turned to Michael, who was following through the door, dragging a huge box of hastily gathered alien tech and lab notes. "Michael Guerin, will you marry me?"

Michael opened his mouth again. "Wait. What?"

Isobel, on the other hand, glared him down. “He says yes, Manes, and you have my blessing. Now can we do something about my dead alien serial killer husband?” 

"Oh, right, yeah." Alex looked at the corpse and then down at his watch. The area looked clean. "Let's get Michael's lab equipment moved out of here and then we can torch this place."

**

On the road out of Roswell in Michael's truck with his bare foot on the dash, Alex couldn't help grinning. There was some weird banjo music playing from Michael's radio, getaway music, Michael called it, but it wasn't terrible.

Michael kept looking at him, these sidelong disbelieving glances. Isobel was fixing her face and hair with makeup wipes in the back seat.

"You assholes don't have to look so happy," she muttered, "we're two aliens and a hitman being chased by a shadowy group of who knows who and Alex's evil family. My husband tried to kill me and I killed him first. We have another brother out there somewhere."

Alex shrugged and tuned her out. He smiled shyly at Michael instead. His fiancee Michael. "Hey, can I ask you something?"

Michael smiled back. "Yeah?" He offered, with only a little trepidation. 

"Whatever you were building in your lab over the last ten years-- was it-- was it maybe a rocketship?"

Michael frowned for a second before whatever he saw in Alex's expression made him go loose and bright. "Yeah, or the console to control one anyway. I still need to attach it to a vehicle. Why, does that get you hot, sweetheart?"

Alex whistled and shifted in his seat, ignoring Isobel's gagging noises from the back. "You have no idea how much."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❤️❤️❤️❤️


End file.
